


Staggering Is For Those With Nothing To Live Up To

by shiningjedi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, TCW, could also be romantic, depending on your point of view, kinda maybe sorta angst, more characters will show up eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-10-05 14:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10310423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiningjedi/pseuds/shiningjedi
Summary: Ponds has fought side-by-side with his general for over two years, so if Windu thinks that he can't tell when something's off, then, with all due respect, he's made a serious error of judgement.





	1. To Set The Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ponds has fought side-by-side with his general for over two years, so if Windu thinks that he can't tell when something's off, then, with all due respect, he's made a serious error of judgement.

“General?” asked Ponds discreetly, checking over his shoulder for any vode within earshot – the landing bay was busy, the 2nd only just having returned from its latest mission –,“are you alright?”

  
Windu glanced at him only briefly before he replied, striding down the corridors towards the command centre, where he was expected by the Council as soon as possible. Ponds kept pace. “Why would I not be?”

  
“You’re normally leading the charge the entire time, sir, covering the men. You, erm, didn’t do that today.” _And dealt the morale a pretty good blow, too, while you were at it, but I’m not about to say that out loud._

 

Windu raised a dignified eyebrow. “My apologies for your morale, then, Commander.”

  
_Kriff. Jedi abilities._

Still, that seemed suspiciously like a dodge, something he had been trained to pick out in other’s behaviour – not his C.O.s, obviously, but he had been trained nonetheless.

  
“All due respect, Sir, but you didn’t answer my original question.”

  
Windu slowed his pace to a halt, turning ninety degrees to face his commander. Ponds swallowed – he was in for it now. It had been his choice, though, and he needed to face up to it.

 

The general sighed, and a spasm of something – weariness? Pain? - passed momentarially over his face before addressing him. “What else gave it away?”

  
Under his helmet, Ponds blinked. “Sir?”

  
A terrifying moment of the fire usually reserved only for Separatists and the worst of politicians: “Did I not make myself clear, Commander?” _(Wow. He must be in pain.)_

  
“My apologies, Sir. Erm, you were quieter than normal at the briefing, and you snapped at some of the men earlier – you’ve never done that before.”

  
Windu frowned, bringing his hand up to his chin in thought, seeming to be trying to come to a decision. Ponds stood stock-still at ease, waiting for what his general said with something approaching trepidation. Most of the Jedi took good care of the clones under their command, and Windu was no exception – he expected good discipline, sure, and no slacking off, but if you had any problem or concern he would be there for you in an instant, and he’d vouch for you in front of any other officer there was – probably even the chancellor himself. It was only natural that the clones returned that same care and loyalty, and not just because they were programmed to be subservient. Ponds had no doubts that the entire 2nd army of the GAR would currently be on, if not tenterhooks, then some degree of watchful alert (gossip always travelled fast among the vode).

  
“Commander Ponds.”

  
He went to snap to attention, then realised that his General wasn’t in his famed “Jedi High General of the 2nd and 4th mode” anymore – if anything, _he_ was nervous. _Kriff, kriff, and double-kriff again._

“Yes, sir?”

He tried to say it gently.

  
Windu took a deep breath, hiding his hand behind his back as he seemed to realise he was fidgeting. “Ponds, I’m about to inform you of something, and if I hear a single word about it among the men, I will be exceedingly disappointed.”

  
Not angry. Disappointed.

  
“You can trust me, Sir.” _And you should know that very well._

  
Another pause.

  
“Several weeks ago, we went on a mission to Kelada.”

  
“Yes, Sir.”

  
“I was gone a while, to track down a bounty hunter who’d been bothering us for some time.”

  
“Yes, Sir.”

  
“We engaged in a battle.”

  
“Er.. Yes, Sir.”

  
“He shot me in the torso with a poisoned dart.”

  
Ponds was suddenly acutely aware of the pressing, empty silence around them, which was odd because of the wind that was roaring in his ears.

 

He staggered.

 

“Sir…”

 

“Last time I checked, Commander, I was the one who had been injured, not you. Unless you were hurt in the previous battle, and require checking into the medbay?”

  
“No, sir.” He dragged himself back to attention. “What do you require me to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be keeping a little of the worldbuilding from "Shatterpoint" for this one.
> 
> My Tumblr is crechemaasters, if you want to send me prompts (or any asks in general).
> 
> You know how much reviewers fill a writer's soul.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ponds resolves to do something quite possibly treasonous - but worth it, if it means he saves his general - , and things become more complicated, as things are generally wont to do.

Windu grimaced awkwardly. “Let’s head towards my quarters, for a start. I don’t want to be overheard, and I could do with sitting down for a while.”

 

Ponds saluted. “At once, Sir.” He hesitated for a moment – should he be offering his arm to lean on? – but Windu had already headed off. He had to almost jog for a moment to catch up.

 

 

(The General was presumably in pain, but he was hiding it well, although Ponds did notice sweat beginning to rise on his forehead before they reached his rooms, and his pace had been starting to slow by the time they crossed the threshold.)

 

Windu waved the door shut with a hand, waiting until it was fully closed before sinking down onto one of the several neatly aligned seats. His hand moved towards his chest, but he seemed to catch himself in time and settled it by his side instead.

 

Ponds hovered uncertainly.

 

“Sit down, Ponds.”

 

Windu’s voice was suddenly thin and tired, and Ponds noted the use of his name, rather than his rank, as he complied.

 

Windu was silent, seemingly in thought, for some time. Ponds wasn’t sure for how long this went – it could have been half a minute, or maybe as many as ten –, but he decided eventually to speak up.

 

“I’m … presuming you wanted to talk with me, sir?”

 

He sat up a little straighter and nodded, seemingly pulling the threads of his mask back together. Ponds cleared his throat and he frowned, then slumped forward, closing his eyes momentarially.

 

This wasn’t good – the general’s persona would usually take a good earthquake to disrupt it; in fact, an earthquake wouldn’t do the trick. Ponds couldn’t think of anything that would.

 

Except being poisoned by a bounty hunter, evidentially.

 

“It’s only me, Sir,” he said gently. “I’ve been engineered to provide support to my superiors.”

 

If anything, Windu now looked more pained than before.

 

Kark it, that had definitely been a bad move.

 

He tried again.

 

“General, I’m your Commander, as as such, it is my job to ensure that your well-being is maintained as much as possible. If it would be beneficial for you to say something to me, then I would highly recommend that you say it.”

 

Windu’s eyes fell shut, then he frowned and opened them again.

 

(Ponds really hoped that he hadn’t misstepped.)

 

“Thank you, Ponds.” the general said finally, and folded his hands together in front of him, sliding his fingers over his calloused knuckles as if to somehow ground himself, or prepare for what he was about to say.

 

“I extracted the dart and preformed an analysis. The poison in question is Manax-root, and ...”

 

Ponds gaped. “ _Manax-root_? And this was weeks ago? How are you still managing to move? Er, Sir.”

 

Wait.

 

“The Force, Sir, if I could hazard a guess?”

 

“Yes, and the fact that my subspecies of human is more resistant to poison than most. I --”

 

He slumped a little lower in his seat, breathing heavily.

 

Ponds was standing and by his side in an instant.

 

“Sir, with all due respect, the explanation can wait,” he said firmly. “We need to get you to the antidote – or vice versa – ASAP.”

 

Windu shoved his eyes open and clenched his jaw. “No, Commander. We have been ordered to maintain full communications silence except when contacted first. And we _will_.”

 

Ponds glared at nothing in particular and folded his arms, but surrendered the point as ordered for the time being.

 

Not that he wasn’t already making plans to discreetly contact General Billaba, of course – she was the go-to Jedi when Windu needed off-the-record assistance.

 

(Word said that she tended to be a little … protective … of her former Master. _He practically adopted her_ , went the unofficial word among the vode – Ponds wasn’t sure where the rumour had originated, but one of his own men had somehow managed to confirm that he had rescued her as an infant before bringing her to the Order.)

 

“Did you hear what I said, Commander?”

 

General Windu had started to stand.

 

“Of course, Sir.” said Ponds, watching anxiously as he staggered slightly, then righted himself against the durasteel wall.

 

Windu’s comlink beeped.

 

“Mace?,” asked a concerned, clipped, Coruscanti accent.

 

_General Kenobi!_

“Mace, is everything alright? Depa sensed that something was wrong, and you weren’t replying to her mental prodding, so she let I and Yoda know about it. Mace? Are you there? If you don’t respond within the hour, we shall have to call the council into an emergency session.”

 

Ponds, currently in the process of being flooded with relief, couldn’t help but suspect that General Billaba’s “sense” had been an extremely reckless transmission from one of the 2nd’s more observant brothers, and not actually any weird force-granted ability.

 

At least he had plausible deniability.

 

Windu was just opening his mouth to speak – _don’t lie about anything, Sir, please_ – when several things happened in very quick succession:

 

Alarms rang shrilly through the hull of the _Tenacity_ , the transmission from the Temple suddenly flickered and cut out, and _General Windu collapsed to the floor!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, Manax-root is the same poison used on Padme in TCW: Senate Spy!  
> I Decided to call Mace's cruiser the "Tenacity" because I'd noticed that the other named Jedi ships tended to be somehow named after their General - "Tranquility" for Luminara, "Negotiator" for Obi-wan, etc. (I had a few less flattering alternitives in the draft, but this isn't a crack!fic so I remained as sensible as possible. A highlight was the "Dubious Anger Managment Stragegies", or the "Dams!" for short.)  
> ( It's alright, buddy, I've been there too.)
> 
> My Tumblr is crechemaasters, and reviews make me extremely, extremely happy.


	3. Not exactly Obi-wan's ideal manner of promotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yoda and Obi-wan are awkward and not sure how to express their mutual sympathy; Mace adds not being able to stand to the list of force-damned problems he has to deal with, Ponds' day just keeps getting worse and worse, and have a little pity for the 2nd's medic.

“Mace? Mace!”

 

The audio transmission from the _Tenacity_ was suddenly flooded with screaming sirens, then distorted and cut out, and Obi-wan closed his eyes slowly and drew in a deep breath. When his more distracting emotions had slipped away obediently into the force, he lowered his gaze and exchanged a worried look with his friend and superior.

 

“I’m sorry, Master,” he said quietly. “It’s time to call the Council into session.”

 

Yoda nodded solemnly. His hands were wrapped tightly around his gimer stick, squeezing it as if he couldn’t stand without support, but his weathered face showed only mild concern and sorrow.

 

“The procedure for a meeting without the Master of the Order, what is?”

 

Obi-wan had to bite back the ridiculous and out-of-place desire to laugh. Only Yoda could turn a situation like this into just another instructor’s test.

 

“I believe, Master, that another Councillor is to be selected personally by the Grand Master to adjourn.”

 

Yoda nodded in approval, and began to hobble towards the door. “Correct you are, young Obi-wan. Now go, hold your meeting. Right behind you I will be.”

 

 

 

Different brothers’ shouts competed over the top of the blaring alarms, combined with the sounds of the clanking of armoured boots on the metal deck and the cocking of blasters into place.

 

Ponds managed to decipher “General Grievous!” and “We’re under attack!” and something that might have been “Form up, men! Move it!,” but his priority, as a Clone Commander’s should be, was his general. In Ponds’ case, the general in question had weakly reached for his lightsaber and was currently attempting to stand, which Ponds correctly concluded was in no way a logical or reasonable decision.

 

“You need to stay still, Sir,” he said urgently, gently pressing Windu back to the floor and debating whether to stay with him himself or comm for a medic.

 

He decided on the former – his men were all highly skilled, but he was fully aware that none of them were as good with a blaster as he was, and the general was in no way capable of defending himself adequately at the moment.

 

He’d feel better this way, although a little guilty about not leading his men into the fray.

 

He recognised the irony of that train of thought, distantly, but he shoved it aside in favour of forcibly restraining his superior officer – _(Don’t think about your nightmares, Ponds, this is different, this is to help him, don’t think about your nightmares)_ – until Windu gave up and lay limply on the metal deck, breathing shallowly and slowly releasing his grip on his lightsaber.

 

It rolled a few inches away from him then was still.

 

“General?” Windu’s eyes flickered open, and his fingers scrabbled, but Ponds wasn’t sure what to – his lightsaber, maybe? He hurriedly picked it up and clipped it onto his belt, then punched an emergency code into his comm.

 

He was still staying with him, but calling over a medic definitely seemed like a good idea anyway.

 

“Patcher! Are you there? I need ---”

 

“Ponds….”

 

“I’ll be just a moment, General, I promise, I’ll be just a moment, then I’ll be there – Patcher, I need you to get to the General’s quarters ASAP – to blasted ash with ASAP, actually, I need you here yesterday morning! And take the biggest medkit you’ve got! You hear me?”

 

An affirmative crackling of static, and Ponds turned back immediately to his general – _(his strong general, his powerful general, his somehow still caring general, who fought with fury, who didn’t lie prone on the floor of his quarters in the middle of a battle, who wasn’t too weak to even stand_ ) – and pulled off his glove with a hand that was trying desperately not to shake.

 

He felt Windu’s forehead and hissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did have more, but I wanted to keep the chapter lengths somewhat uniform, or at the least increasing fairly slowly.
> 
> My tumblr is crechemaasters.
> 
> If you want to make my clasp my hands and squeal delightedly, the "comment" box is right below.


	4. of perfect daughters and trying to keep consciousness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ponds stays absolutely, one-hundred percent calm; the 2nd's medic is promt and well-equipped; and Mace is in a perfectly sound state of mind and beginnning to recover. Those, of course, are lies. Massive, humongous lies, every single one of them.

He woke up, sort of.

 

His forehead was burning – burning, of course it was burning, of course the rest of him was burning as well, like it had been for days, his body was still trying desperately to fight off the poison – but the palm of Ponds’ hand felt like it had been dipped in icy water.

 

(He had somehow always assumed an assassination would be over a lot quicker, and that he’d have his lightsaber in his hand.)

 

He wondered distantly if the bounty hunter would be able to collect the reward for killing him, then remembered that he’d stabbed them dead almost three weeks before, on the day that they had shot him with the dart.

 

It frightened him how affected his thinking was by the toxin. He hoped he’d be able to recognise Depa, if he saw her again.

 

( _She had always been so composed, so capable, so loyal and full of faith and_ light, _yet somehow his thoughts flickered to one of the very few times that he’d seen her in tears, a seven-year-old whose crechémaster had just died. She had turned to look at him and -)_

 

“General! General Windu!”

 

The voice was Ponds’; Mace tried to force open his eyes, but somehow his body couldn’t make the effort.

 

“Patcher will be here in just a minute, but you need to hold on until then, General. You need to hold on, do you hear me?”

 

His commander’s voice seemed to crack – whether from stress or emotion he couldn’t tell, not that he was particularly skilled at picking up social cues even when he wasn’t running a fever from a poisoned wound when _General Grievous_ was in the vicinity – just as he finally found the strength to move, and he rolled over with a heaving gasp for air.

 

“Ponds …” he managed, reaching out a hand – what for he didn’t know – and his commander caught it between both of his own and held it tight.

 

“I’m right here, General, I’m right here. You had me real scared for a moment, Sir.”

 

 _And you aren’t still now?,_ wondered Mace, breathing shallowly and trying to clear his foggy, sluggish head – or failing that, at least manage to focus on something, probably the throbbing in his chest, where the dart had sunk its manax-coated teeth into his flesh.

 

(It didn’t work.)

 

He felt his consciousness drifting lazily again towards the edge of his reach, and tried to pull it back into place out of sheer brutal power of will, but this time he didn’t have the strength to.

 

He did hope that he wouldn’t die, but stupefaction was no refuge from blinding pain and nausea.

 

The last thing he sensed before he blacked out was a trooper – _Patcher, probably,_ he thought – skidding round the corner, dodging blasterfire, and slamming the button to close the door with his fist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short and the update took so long - real life became, well, you know, real life.
> 
> Reviews are, of course, much appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have to get worse before they get better. Fortunately, in this chapter only a little worse, and it gets a very little better here. Like, a very little.

Ponds looked up sharply and beckoned, having to remove one hand from his General’s to do so. “About karking time, Patcher,” he said, allowing himself an expletive in such a serious situation (and the presence of only one of his men).

 

“Sorry, Sir,” said Patcher shortly, kneeling beside Windu, who was breathing slowly and shallowly, and fumbling open his medkit. “Got held up by clankers. What the _kriff_ happened to the General? He’s in a pretty bad way.”

 

“You don’t say, Trooper,” snapped Ponds, shuffling half a foot away on his knees to allow Patcher the space to work. He still didn’t drop Windu’s hand. “He was shot with a manax-root-tipped dart karking weeks ago on Kelada. Didn’t tell anyone – Fett knows why – and pretended nothing had happened all the way up until he keeled over.”

 

“Can’t say I’m surprised, Sir. He hangs ‘round Kenobi too much to not pick that sort of nonsense up.”

 

Ponds said nothing, and Patcher cringed as he felt Windu’s pulse – light and uneven, stumbling to a near halt and then racing like a wild rancor was after it – and unclipped his vambraces and shoulder guards and set them aside. “You’ve got his saber, Sir?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good. Keep holding on to it.”

 

Ponds reluctantly surrendered the General’s hand so Patcher could undo the straps to his gauntlets as well. Windu made a slight sound and his fingers twitched as if reaching for his Commander.

 

( _And friend as well?_ Ponds wondered, then shoved the irrelevant thought away. He didn’t need emotion and personal bonds complicating this mess further.)

 

(Kriff, now he was sounding like a Jedi.)

 

Patcher jolted him out of his thoughts with an abrupt order-phrased-as-a-request to “grab his cloak from his foot-locker, would you, Commander?” Normal chains of command didn’t apply to medical officers, and even more so in an emergency, so he quickly did as he was told. Patcher bundled it up and placed it under his head, nodding his thanks, then settled back onto his haunches.

 

“That’s it?” said Ponds incredulously, feeling dizzy as the adrenaline began to wear off, and Patcher shifted uncomfortably and opened then closed his mouth.

 

“There’s not much else we can do, Sir.”

 

Ponds really hoped that he wasn’t going to vomit. “But – this is _General Windu_ – he’s practically holding the Order together with cord and glue! He can’t –”

 

“Welcome to the universe, Commander,” said Patcher drily, then sighed and bowed his head. The General moaned slightly and he shook his gloves off to stroke his forehead.

 

“There’s still a chance that a cruiser will get here in time with a proper healer or the antidote, but odds are Grievous will beat them to it.”

 

Men were shouting outside in the corridor, “Protect the General!” and “Hold the line!” and the occasional scream of pain. Ponds opened his mouth to tell Patcher to get over there and help them, if there was nothing more that he could do here, but he already had his blaster in his hand and was dragging furniture in front of the door.

 

“All due respect, Sir,” he said, grunting slightly with effort as he moved a table, “but we don’t have time to sit there and mope. Get your weapons, and hide that lightsaber. That cyborg’s not gonna get his filthy metal hands on it.”

 

Ponds shook his head, patting it where it was clipped onto his belt, but pulled out his double blasters nonetheless. The adrenaline wasn’t coming back, but he recognised some primal ferocity building up inside him in its place. Mando rage, he decided, and with it the accompanying desire to fight to the death. “I’m not burying our army’s rallying symbol underneath a blanket and cowering over the General like he’s just a burning hunk of meat. I’m going down protecting our _alor_ , and I’m not doing that by treating his weapon like some chip with intel on it.”

 

He tightened his grip on his own weapons, and glanced out of the window behind where Windu’s table had been thirty seconds ago. A republic cruiser was just coming out of hyperspace, and remembered his training to _consider options_ , to _not just assume a resulting fatality._

 

“Or not going down at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In an apology for the slow update last time, have one two days later. Reviews, as always, make me extremely happy.  
> (Oh, and "alor" is Mando'a for "leader" and most of its synonyms.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get even more desperate, if that is even possible - and then a whole lot better, naturally. These things come in cycles, and at least some of the characters need to survive for the sake of canon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry that this has taken so long - this was going to be the last chapter but I wanted to give my readers something sooner.
> 
> It will be finished, I swear!

Ponds’ wrist comm beeped, and a calm female voice, dignified with the slightest hint of a Mid-Rim lilt, began to filter through.

_General Billaba!_

He launched over to where he had left it on the ground and hurriedly scrambled to pick it up as the full message crackled through.

“Commander Ponds, this is Jedi High General Depa Billaba, aboard Republic Cruiser Tranquility. I have with me General Luminara Unduli, and Commanders Grey and Gree. Permission to come aboard?”

Hand shaking as he held his battered vanguard, he looked up and exchanged a brief glace with Patcher, who was still crouched next to the unconscious General Windu, and berated him mentally for his lack of confidence in the Jedi. _They’re kind of good at these things, vod._ Patcher glared and gestured impatiently for him to respond.

 

“Permission granted, High General Billaba. If I may say so, your presence here is extremely welcome!” “So I gathered, Commander,” the other voice said dryly; “given all the Separatist vessels around you, you seem to have encountered a slight vermin problem.”

“I – yes, General. And we have two other problems as well, sir. They’re … rather large.”

There was a slight pause on the other end, static broken after a moment of near-silence. “I am aware of one of these, Commander Ponds, which is why both I and Master Unduli – a most accomplished healer by all accounts – have come. But what is the other?”

As she spoke, droids banged against the sealed door, their pre-programmed shouts of “Open up! In the name of the Separatist Confederacy!” filtering faintly through it.

“Er, General, General Grievous is on board.”

Another pause, then: “I see. We’ll be docking in about ten seconds.”

 

The distant click of the other cruiser joining with Tenacity coincided almost precisely with the swarm of battle droids finally breaking the door down; Ponds and Patcher moved into action, using double blasters and single blasters and roundhouse kicks and their own two fists to defend the General, but were quickly overwhelmed.

Patcher staggered from the blunt end of a blaster to his chest, and just managed to avoid falling onto Windu; Ponds noticed from where he was backed into a corner that their General was moving faintly again, presumably roused by the noise of the battle.

Windu’s shaking hands twitched towards his belt, and Ponds realised that the reason the droids were taking him alive was because of the electrum-studded lightsaber clipped neatly to his own – to be questioned by General Grievous (by which he meant tortured) and then discarded.

Patcher, a few metres away, lost his blaster to a shockingly well-aimed shot – or, as was more probable with the standard clankers, a plain coincidence – and Ponds was about to make his final stand when there was a rush of sound from outside the door, and brothers with green- and red-marked armour charged through, scattering parts of dismantled droids as they went.

 

Jedi assistance, as usual, had only arrived in just the nick of time.


	7. Here come the Generals!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This should be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry that this update took so long, and just as sorry at its appallingly short length. I know I keep on saying this, but there really should be more coming soon! I have the ending written, just not all that's in the middle.

A brother in forest green armour offered Ponds a hand up just as the last clanker fell, chittering feebly, to the deck, and he took it, nodding his thanks before rushing back over to the prone shape of his General.

Patcher had gotten there before him, but didn’t take the time to acknowledge the presence of his superior – he had two fingers pressing gently on top of Windu’s jugular, and was counting beats on the fingers of his other hand. They were terrifyingly slow in moving.

 

Ponds was aware, theoretically, of the many brothers talking and moving and worrying around him, but his attention didn’t drift from Mace’s unconscious form, somehow a lot thinner and more careworn than the way Ponds always saw him, when a near-human Jedi General dressed in velvety black robes dropped to her knees beside him as well, splaying the fingers of one hand out lightly on his forehead and then placing the other onto his chest, above his heart.

“Troopers, you may leave,” she said quietly, voice crisp and musical but with an underlying urgency, and every clone present except Patcher and Ponds immediately fell silent, shouldered their weapons, and marched both quickly and silently out, presumably back through the ship towards the main battle, apart from the wounded and any medics.

“General Unduli,” began Patcher, clearly not wanting to leave his Genera’s side – and could Ponds blame him? No, he couldn't, he felt the same – but she cut him off, now sharper.

“That _does_ include you both. I shall need to work in peace if I am to have any chance of saving the life of Master Windu.”

“C’mon, brother,” muttered Ponds, pulling Patcher to his feet as he saluted, but privately was as dubious of the chances of Unduli's succeeding as his friend.

_How is she supposed to find peace when the whole Republic’s caught in a war?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews power the mill that I built to artificially churn out my stories.


	8. a rushed introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ponds meets Depa - well, sort of - in the middle of the battle. He analyses while fighting. Grievous is on the loose.

The two troopers pelted through the halls of Tenacity, swept along with the masses of brothers from Unduli and Billaba’s battalions, and some from their own as well, dodging though the thicket here and there and trying to hear the shouts of their brothers over the blaring sirens.

Patcher made a brief hand signal and parted from the crowd, running towards the medbay to give aid to the wounded.

Ponds nodded and kept running, his DCs itchy in his hands, which were sweating under his gloves.

His own General was _dying_ , and _General Grievous_ was here.. and the General who would have to face him was practically the daughter of his own. If by some Jedi miracle he survived this mess, what would they tell him about her? Grievous had killed _tens_ of Generals and Commanders before now, although admittedly not a High General in person.

“Speak of the Sith Lord,” he muttered out loud, finally arriving at the frontlines of the battle, as a petite human woman with neatly braided black hair and long, flowing robes a few shades darker than her skin ( _impractically long_ , he thought) spun and wove through the throng, deflecting stray blaster bolts from clankers with a sunlight-green lightsaber as easily as reading on a datapad.

She caught his eye and nodded solemnly, then got back to work, racing lightly ahead and then stopping to shield the clones.

 _So this is General Billaba_ , Ponds thought, even as he threw a hasty half-salute over his shoulder and continued shooting battle droids to pieces with his twin blasters.

He would have pegged her as being in her early thirties, apart from the much older expression in her eyes, but he’d pieced together from things General Windu had said that she was in her mid-forties at the least.

And that _he_ was at least sixty.

 _Jedi age almost as strange as us clones; I wonder if_ –

Grey and Gree charged past him with their men, and Ponds almost got territorial before snapping himself back into logic and calling for the unwounded of his own to follow.

“For the Republic!” shouted one – Twitch – and his close friend Snapback echoed the familiar cry, several others taking it up as well.

He caught up with Grey, who turned to look at him through his helmet and said, raising his voice just enough for him (and no-one else) to hear, “for our Generals.”

Ponds touched one blaster to his chest in recognition, even as he spun on his heel, still using the other to shoot battle droids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, it could have been a longer time between the updates. Theoretically. I feel like excuse of "real life" is getting a bit worn out, but I'm sure you can relate, whether you write or no. Sometimes it's just hard to get things done (as one or two of the characters may find out soon).


End file.
